


The Man Who Would Be King

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Broom Cupboard Sex, Humor, M/M, MWPP Era, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-09
Updated: 2005-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How it happened, from beginning to end, from the man who started it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Would Be King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Penknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/gifts).



> Written for [](http://reversathon.livejournal.com/profile)[**reversathon**](http://reversathon.livejournal.com/) 2005.

**I. [...]**

You have to understand. I never expected it to happen.

It's not like I woke up that morning and said 'I think I'll snog my best mate in a storage cupboard'. I mean, when I went down for breakfast that morning, I was probably thinking about snogging Marlene McKinnon. And I doubt the storage cupboard ever came into it. You remember Marlene McKinnon, don't you? She had fabulous breasts, and legs that went on forever. Right. Not that you ever looked. But she did, and I would've happily snogged her wherever she was willing to have me.

Turns out, I snogged my best mate, instead. In a storage cupboard. But like I said, I never expected it. And I didn't plan it, either, so stop looking at me like that. It just sort of happened, like. Keep in mind that we were sixteen, and sixteen year-old boys have all kinds of mad fancies. Sixteen year-old boys also get hard for any reason at all, like fabulous breasts, or a bird in a short skirt, or a stiff wind.

Or being trapped in a small, dark space with a warm body. Especially when that warm body keeps wriggling around and shoving his arse up against your bits.

And he really was wriggling. You'd have thought there was a baby acromantula down his trousers.

**a. i quite like to make it through the night | my heart beats slow fast | i dont feel right**

Sirius' footsteps echo through the halls, his shoes hitting the stone floor with a squeaky, grating sound. The ache in his side is starting to burn, starting to spread, creeping upwards into his chest and making it feel tight, constricted.

James takes another flight of stairs -- it is the third, maybe the fourth -- Sirius has lost count in the dizzy swim of breathlessness. Gasping, panting, Sirius follows, forcing his heavy legs to move, driven by the fear of being caught.

He doesn't realise James has stopped until it is too late, until he crashes into him, sending James sideways into the banister. He reaches out, his hand ghosting over James' shoulder, then he hears the tell-tale creak, feels the familiar lurch of the ground shifting under his feet, and his fingers slip from James' sleeve to curl around ancient wood.

The staircase swings wide, swings fast, the darkness of the castle whirling around them. There is the scrape of stone against stone, the solid clunk of the staircase settling on its new home, then silence. A moment passes, one heartbeat stretching into two, into three, and Sirius shoves James toward the landing before the staircase can change its mind again.

James stumbles up, but freezes, stopping Sirius with an outflung arm, and when he looks over James' shoulder he sees a week's worth of detention swirling in unblinking, lamp-like eyes.

Another heartbeat, and another. The watchcat opens it's mouth, and a piteous yowl rips through the stillness.

James swears under his breath, using the Muggle curses Remus taught them when they were twelve. Sirius pulls his wand, a _Petrificus Totalus_ bubbling on his lips, but James pulls _him_ , his warm, sweaty hand circling Sirius' wrist as he tears off down the corridor.

The cat does not follow, but the distance James puts between them does nothing to alleviate the noise. Its wails are pained, banshee-like, an invisible spectre nipping at their heels. James quickens their pace, running until everything disappears, until the portraits and wall-hangings and suits of armour blur into the walls.

He skids to a halt, stopping so suddenly Sirius knocks into him again, and yanks open a door half-hidden behind a tapestry. It's a door Sirius has never seen before, one James must have found while he was sketching for the map, and it's scarcely open more than a foot when James pushes him inside.

It's a storage cupboard of sorts, small and cramped, and it looks very much like it's the place where the bits and bobs of Hogwarts go to die. A large, unidentifiable lump lurks against one wall, draped in a sheet, and portrait frames and three-legged desks are stacked from floor to ceiling. At James' hip, a bust of Circe is frowning at them disapprovingly, and Sirius is wedged between James and the type of luggage trolley found at Kings Cross Station.

'Where--'

'Shh!' James hisses, waving him off sharply.

James leans toward the door, listening. He is standing on Sirius' foot, and his elbow catches Sirius squarely in the ribs as he stretches a hand out to steady himself. Sirius shoves him for it, grunting, but catches James by a handful of his shirt when he tips forward and bumps into Circe.

'Here, now!' she complains, her voice raspy and hoarse. 'Watch yourselves.'

James snickers. Sirius reaches around him and turns her face toward the opposite wall. Circe grumbles, but Sirius ignores her, grumbling himself because James is still knocking him around.

'Stop it!'

'Be quiet,' says James. He leans toward the door again, and there is another elbow, another trodden foot.

'Mind your hands,' snaps Sirius, 'and your feet.'

'Where do you want me to put them, then?' asks James, twisting around to glare at Sirius. 'There's not much room in here.'

'Where is here?' asks Sirius.

'A storage cupboard,' replies James flatly.

Sirius resists the urge to cuff him in the head; he knows it will only result in more bruised ribs and squashed toes.

They come anyway, when James moves away from the door, and this time, he manages to smack the back of his hand into Sirius' hip. The urge to shove him returns, and not only because Sirius is annoyed, but because it's warm in here, and painfully claustrophobic. James is everywhere, arms and legs and hands and feet; his back is against Sirius' chest and his hair is tickling Sirius' nose and Sirius just wants some space.

He nudges James away from him slightly, just enough to get some air, just enough to take a breath that isn't full of hair and skin and _James_. But he pushes too hard, too far, and James bumps Circe's pedestal. She rocks precariously, grumbling again, and James inches away from her, closer to Sirius than he was before, pressing against Sirius until the handle of the trolley is digging into his back.

'Bloody Hell, it's hot,' complains James, and it is.

They are both in school shirts and trousers, no ties, no robes, but Sirius feels like he's in a furnace. He feels like the walls are closing in, like James is closing in, because the cupboard is small and dark, because he can smell sweat and Quidditch and boy underneath the dust, because James' legs are tangled with his and James' arse is shoved up against his cock.

And James keeps moving, shifting; he refuses to stand still. He pulls at his buttons and rolls up his sleeves, and when he leans back into Sirius to untuck his shirt, his arse brushes _just there_ and Sirius is hard.

Sirius swallows the moan building in his throat and closes his eyes, waiting for James to notice, hoping that he doesn't. James moves again, back against Sirius, his arse pressing, grinding. This time, the moan comes out, choked and strangled, and his head falls forward onto James' shoulder.

'Get off,' says James peevishly. 'It's too hot.'

Sirius doesn't; he's afraid if he moves, if he breathes, he will give himself away. James makes a funny, whinging sound and arches, trying to shrug Sirius off, but when it doesn't work he twists around a bit and his arse rubs Sirius' cock again.

'Fuck,' hisses Sirius, his hands flying to James' hips to still him.

'What?'

'James.'

'What?'

' _James_.'

James makes an exasperated noise, a half-sigh half-growl that rumbles against Sirius' chest. Sirius' blood runs hot, heat pooling low in his stomach, and when James shifts again, Sirius' hips jerk forward hard and fast.

There is a pause, and Sirius braces himself, waiting for James to hit him, shout at him, waiting for James to storm out of the cupboard and never speak to him again.

'Oh.'

'Oh?' asks Sirius.

'I thought it was just me.'

'What?'

James turns, twisting around to face Sirius with hazel eyes that are wide and dark, and he leans into Sirius, his cock pressing hard against Sirius' own.

'Oh.'

'Yeah,' says James.

Sirius tries to think, tries to find something to say, but he can't, he can barely breathe, because James wanting this is actually as frightening as James not wanting this, only in a different way.

James kisses him then, and it's both wonderful and weird, because kissing is brilliant, but this is a bloke, not just any bloke but _James_ , his best mate. But he's glad they are kissing, even if it makes his stomach knot a bit, because if they're kissing they can't talk, and Sirius still hasn't found anything to say.

He searches James' mouth for the words, but he doesn't find them, finds only warm lips and a slick tongue that winds perfectly around his own. He searches James' body, hands mapping out his hips, his back, his arse, but he doesn't find them there, either, and then James rocks against him, pushing their cocks together, and the heat that sparks through Sirius' body chases his thoughts of finding and searching away.

The only other place to look is James' trousers, and when Sirius' hand first slips inside, when he first has James' cock hot and hard in his hand, he just wants to touch, just wants to _feel_. He doesn't need words when James starts to stroke him, he just needs James' hand around his cock, just needs broom-callused fingers sliding over his heated, sweat-slick skin.

James pulls him close, thrusting hard and fast into Sirius' hand, and James moans, the sound muffled by Sirius' lips and tongue. It's low and rich and desperate, and it makes Sirius' blood race, makes his cock throb, makes him want to give James more. He does, his fingers curled tightly around James' cock, his thumb swirling over the head, and James comes, his teeth grazing Sirius' neck as he spurts hot and thick over Sirius' fingers.

James kisses him, his tongue slow and lazy with release, and he moans again, right into Sirius' mouth. It's quieter, less desperate, but it's enough, and Sirius hisses James' name through gritted teeth as James' hand pulls him over the edge.

Then it's done, then it's over, and Sirius realises he still hasn't found any words, but he decides that is all right, for now. He can worry about it tomorrow, when there isn't more important things to think on, like getting back upstairs without being seen.

He keeps his mouth shut as he sorts out his trousers, and pretends he doesn't hear Circe snickering.

**II. [...]**

See, I told you it just happened. You don't look like you believe me, but that's the truth. Complete and total accident. Right place at the right time, and that. I don't know why you're surprised, really. I mean, we shared everything else, so why not that?

Did it happen again? Of course it did. You don't just do something like that and then forget about it in the morning. Well, we tried to, and yeah, it was awkward for a bit, but we got over it. About a week later, he crawled into my bed in the middle of the night. Said he couldn't sleep, but then he stuck his hand down my trousers, and it's not like I was going to complain. And a couple days later, I caught him wanking in the shower, and he didn't complain when I stuck around to help him out.

It went on for most of that year. Right around the Easter hols, he got distracted, but you know that. And I suppose us having it on all that time made it hurt twice, because I lost my best mate, and I lost my, well, you know. I mean, I had girls. Plenty of girls. Never did have Marlene McKinnon, but I think she preferred birds, anyway. But yeah, girls. Only, girls didn't always do it right. And girls weren't the next bed over when you woke up at arse o'clock in the morning with a hard-on.

Stop making that face. You wouldn't understand, anyway. It's hard being a boy, at sixteen, seventeen. Girls always messing you about, professors always looking at you like you've been up to no good, parents always screaming about blood traitors and family honour. Right. Maybe not _your parents_ , but you get the picture. And to top it off, you've no control over your bits. I mean, can you imagine getting a hard-on during History of Magic? In the middle of a Quidditch match?

You probably can't. But let me tell you, it's embarrassing. Right up there will losing your clothes in the middle of a Sorting Feast. And no, I still don't know how that happened, but I'm sure James had something to do with it.

So what did I do after James ran off? I spent a lot of time with my hand, that's what. Oh, stop wrinkling your nose. You asked, didn't you? But yeah, just me and my hand. Until Moony came along. I know that sounds funny, because Moony'd been there the whole time. Moony was the first person I met on the train. Before James, even. So he was always there, I just never noticed. Well, noticed isn't the right word. Just, it never occurred to me to turn to Moony and say _hey, fancy a toss_ like I did with James.

Of course, when I finally did, I wondered why I hadn't thought about it sooner.

**b. well i hate the way you say | but my heart has gone astray | with all these friendships slipped away**

Sirius shouts for James as he's pushing the door open, his voice battling with the creak of the hinges for James' attention. Only James is not there; his bed is empty, save for the twisted mess of blankets and sheets in the centre.

He pauses in the doorway, his eyes darting between Remus and Peter. He knows there is an explanation coming, knows James tasked them with making his excuses, and his fingers fidget impatiently on the handle while he waits for one of them to work up the nerve.

On his bed, Remus turns a page of his book. At the mirror, Peter fusses with his hair. Sirius combats their stubborn silence by shutting the door a bit harder than necessary.

'Library,' offers Remus finally. He doesn't look up from his book.

'Library,' mutters Sirius. He remembers when, not a month ago, James had declared the Library to be as boring as History of Magic.

'Charms,' explains Peter, bolder now that Remus has already delivered the news.

'Charms?' Sirius snorts, tossing his bookbag on his trunk. 'James does fine in Charms.'

'Yes,' says Remus, 'but Evans doesn't know that. She thinks he's an idiot.'

'He _is_ an idiot,' Sirius grumbles.

He flops down on his bed and stares up at the canopy, bitterness twisting around in his stomach. He's ignored James' fixation on Evans, because there didn't seem to be any harm in it, but lately, things have changed. She's still mostly cool and indifferent toward James, but she doesn't shout as much as she once did, and she's come close to smiling at James twice that Sirius has seen.

It only makes James follow her around more, and Sirius doesn't like it. He misses his best mate, misses pranking and joking and having someone to wank with. He likes Remus and Peter, but they are not the same, they are not _James_. They don't act like James, they can't finish his sentences, and they don't crawl into his bed in the middle of the night.

He'd had plans for this evening. He'd wanted to nick a bottle from Filch's stash and get piss drunk with his mates in the Shrieking Shack, and he can't now, because James is off with Evans getting Charms help he doesn't need. He thinks about it, toying absently with a loose thread on his blanket, thinks about an evening with just Remus and Peter. It could be fun, and it would serve James right if they went off and had fun without him, because he's in the Library with Evans pretending to learn.

Sirius doesn't mention it; when he sits up Peter is still fussing with his hair.

'Give up, old man,' the mirror advises.

Peter favours his reflection with a rude gesture and tosses the brush on the dresser.

'Right, lads,' he says. 'Don't wait up.'

Dumbfounded, Sirius watches Peter leave in silence. After the door whispers shut behind him, Sirius turns to Remus and tries to ask, but it comes out as a sputter.

'Elizabeth Millington,' explains Remus, mostly to his book.

'Elizabeth Millington?' asks Sirius, his voice going a bit shrill. Elizabeth Millington is quite fit. She is a seventh-year Ravenclaw with huge breasts, and Sirius has been trying to get a date with her for months. 'How?'

'Girls like Peter,' says Remus.

'Hufflepuffs like Peter,' snaps Sirius.

'Peter is sensitive and kind,' ventures Remus. 'He's a good listener, and he has the presence of mind not to look down a girl's shirt when she can see him doing it.'

'Peter is a bloody girl,' grumbles Sirius. With a sigh, he sits on the edge of Remus' bed and hits him in the leg. 'Who's your date with, then?' he adds, gesturing to the book.

'Charles Dickens,' replies Remus.

'I didn't think you went for blokes,' quips Sirius. Remus gives him a flat look over the top of the book, and Sirius snorts.

'Who's your date?' asks Remus.

'That'd be you, I guess.'

'Not likely,' says Remus. 'I've been trying to read this book all week.'

'But Moony.'

'No, Sirius.' Remus glances at him, then looks back down at the book and turns the page.

'It'll be brilliant,' insists Sirius. 'I know exactly where Filch's stash is, and the great prat left his cloak behind. No one will see us.'

'Sirius, I can't.'

'Moony, if you start in about prefect duties, and that, I'll put that badge somewhere you'll never think to look.'

'You'd be surprised where I'd think to look.'

Sirius starts at that; not only at Remus' words, but at the warm flush he's trying to hide behind the book.

'Moony.'

'Go away, Sirius.'

Sirius does nothing of the sort. He settles in, tucking a leg underneath him, because he knows better. He knows if he sits there and stares long enough it will make Remus jumpy, knows Remus will give in because he can't read with someone watching him.

To his credit, Remus does his best to ignore him. He lifts the book higher, burying his face in it, likely hoping he can put Sirius out of his mind if he keeps him out of sight.

Remus' skin is pale against the dark brown leather, and Sirius wonders if the book is just small, or if Remus' hands are really that big. He's holding it in one, cradled in his palm with his long fingers curved around it. They are stretched out across the cover, and _A Tale of Two Cities_ is just visible in the spaces between.

Sirius shifts, sitting up straight to peer over the top of the book. He can see Remus to about the middle of his nose, but that's not good enough, because Remus is still ignoring him, his hazel eyes drifting back and forth as they take in the words. He leans forward, craning his neck, just in time to see Remus bringing his free hand to his mouth.

Remus' tongue flicks out, quick and pink, wetting the tip of his finger, and Sirius stares. He watches as Remus catches the corner of the page and turns it with a soft rasp of skin and a rustle of paper, and his cock twitches.

He tries to put paid to that train of thought immediately, but doesn't work, it refuses to leave, spreading through every corner of his mind. Remus continues to read, benignly, but Sirius keeps staring at all the wrong things, at his fingers, at his mouth, at his tongue when it sneaks out to wet his lips, and he's suddenly aware of his bent knee pressed against Remus' leg, of how warm Remus is, how warm Remus _always_ is.

He's not supposed to think about Remus that way, because Remus is a bloke and the only bloke he's ever considered tossing off with is James, but Remus does it again, his finger stretching toward his mouth, his tongue darting out. Sirius' cock twitches again, harder, pointedly, and he takes a sharp breath, loud enough that Remus looks up and sighs.

'Go away, Padfoot.'

'No.'

'I'll hit you on the snout with a rolled up paper.'

'No,' says Sirius. Carefully, he lays a hand on Remus' leg. 'You won't.'

Remus lowers the book enough to favour Sirius with a questioning look, but Sirius just smiles at him. He shifts, straddling Remus' legs, his hands drifting to Remus' waist, and his cock hardens at the funny, little noise Remus makes in the back of his throat.

He moves closer, letting his cock press into Remus' leg, and Remus makes that noise again, louder, his eyes widening and darkening. Sirius pulls the book out of his hands, pulls it away from those long, thin fingers, and drops it onto the bed.

'Sirius.'

Remus' voice is low and thick, and he takes a deep breath, like he means to add to that, like he's finding something else to say. Sirius kisses him before he has the chance, before he can start talking, using sense and reason and a bunch of other things Sirius doesn't want to hear right now.

What Sirius wants is to hear Remus moan, and Remus does, rich and desperate and into his mouth. What Sirius wants to hear is Remus whisper his name, in that heavy, honey-over-gravel voice, and Remus does, hissing it against his lips as Sirius pulls away, but Sirius realises that pulling away was probably a mistake, because now Remus has the chance to talk.

'Sirius, we can't--'

'Yes, we can.'

'What about James?'

'What about him?'

Remus hesitates, and Sirius takes that as an opportunity to kiss him again, but Remus is quicker. He rolls them over, putting Sirius under him, and he kisses Sirius hard, his tongue pushing roughly between Sirius' lips. His fingers, the same fingers that had so gently caressed his book are deft and quick now, expertly working the knot of Sirius' tie and pulling it free of his collar with a sibilant rasp. They make short work of his shirt buttons, fumbling just slightly, and they burn like fire when they smooth over Sirius' skin.

Sirius arches up against him, pulling him closer, and rubs his cock against Remus, gasping at the heat that spreads through his body. He wonders why he never did this before, why he's spent the last month moping over James when he could have been snogging Remus, who's a better kisser than James, who's mouth is bloody perfect, like it was meant to do just this.

Remus' fingers tug at his flies, drawing down his zip and wrapping around his cock, and Sirius knows he'll never be able to watch Remus read again, knows one look at a book in those hands, at those fingers stroking tooled leather and yellowed pages will make achingly hard.

Those fingers move over his cock slowly, twisting and curling around it, teasing over the head. Sirius wants desperately to do the same, to get his hand in Remus' trousers and touch Remus' cock, but Remus moves before he can get a hand between them, moves down, lower, nosing at the trail of dark hair under his navel.

Then Remus' mouth is around his cock, hot and wet, his tongue tracing slick patterns along Sirius' length, teasing and tasting, and Sirius is lost. He never did this with James, he's always had birds for this, but compared to the searing heat of Remus' mouth, the birds hadn't known what they were on about. Sirius wonders at that briefly, wonders what Remus has been getting up to, but Remus' tongue swirls around the head of his cock, flicking over the slit, and Sirius decides he doesn't care, because right now, Remus is here, with him.

Remus moans, the sound rumbling through Sirius' body, and Remus swallows around Sirius, his throat muscles massaging the head of his cock, and Sirius comes, thrusting up as much as he can with Remus' hands pining his hips to the bed.

Sirius pulls him up and kisses him, yanking at Remus' flies because he wants Remus' cock in his hand _now_ , but Remus rocks his hips, pushing desperately against Sirius' hand. Sirius stops his fumbling to touch him, cupping and rubbing him through his trousers, and Remus comes, growling and shuddering, and fuck but he's beautiful like this, sweaty and flushed and needy.

He wraps his arms around Remus when Remus collapses on top of him, stroking his hand through the light brown tangle of Remus' hair. He realises that Remus' hair is a total loss because him, because he'd been pulling at it when Remus' mouth had been around his cock, and he feels another flash of heat under his skin.

Remus stirs, and Sirius winces, because Remus is going to talk now, sense and reason that will probably make this awkward, but just as he opens his mouth, the door bangs open.

'What the bloody Hell are you two doing?' demands Peter, his face flushing scarlet.

Sirius looks at Peter, then Remus, who is redder than Peter, but Remus just bites his lip and hides his face in Sirius' neck. Sirius looks at Peter again, his mouth working soundlessly, but Peter just waves him off.

'You know what, I don't think I want to know,' says Peter.

'Wormtail,' says Sirius.

'No,' says Peter, retreating for the safety of his bed. 'I don't want to know, and I don't want to be around when you tell James.'

**III. [...]**

Did I get in with Remus because James'd run off? Of course I did. I was lonely, and I wanted to get off, and Remus was there. I know that sounds horrible, but what can I say? I was a berk back then, and no, I am not expecting you to argue that.

I mean, I think I knew something was different with Remus, but I had other things on my mind. There were pranks to pull and birds to chase, and there was schoolwork, sometimes. And Quidditch, which is brilliant. Well, you don't think so, but it really is. But yeah, I was busy, and that, and I didn't much think about what Remus and I were doing, until I almost lost him after that business at the Shack.

I'm not going to tell you why I did it, because it doesn't matter. There's no excusing what I did to Remus that night, whatever my reasons were. They were rubbish reasons, but I was seventeen, and I was full of all sorts of bollocks when I was seventeen. You'll say I still am, but you would.

He wouldn't talk to me after that, and it hurt. Hurt like it did when James ran off, but differently. It was sharp, like, instead of achy. That's when I realised that... oh Hell, it's not like you don't know. I loved him. Still do, at that. But yeah, he wouldn't talk to me, and it hurt. All I wanted to do was tell him I was sorry, but he wouldn't let me.

The first full moon after, I went to the Shack by myself. Made James and Peter stay behind. I got there late. By the time James was done yelling and Peter was done trying to talk me 'round, the sun had already set. I got there just when Moony was changing, and it was bad. Tore him up worse than I'd seen in four years, and that hurt, too.

Moony was right angry, but I stayed. He wouldn't let me tell him I was sorry, so I wanted to show him. I wanted him to rip me to bits, really. Of course, he would've hated himself worse if he had, but like I said, I was full of all kinds of rot when I was seventeen.

He still didn't talk to me for a couple of weeks, and it was another couple of weeks before he'd let me touch him. When he finally forgave me, I barely let him out of my sight. That's when James cottoned on. He told me it didn't bother him, but he watched us sometimes. At dinner. During class.

He was curious, I guess. Maybe he missed having it off with me. Maybe he wanted in Moony's trousers. Might've been that. I mean, Moony's beautiful, under all the books and the stupid sweaters. I don't know what it was, and no, I'm not going to ask him now, because there's no point. It's over and done.

But really, he must've been curious. I don't think he'd have come looking for us, otherwise. And when he got there, I didn't complain. I mean, I can't say the thought hadn't crossed my mind.

**c. cause we have lived my dream today | and i have lived it yesterday | and i'll have lived it tomorrow**

Sirius' mouth inches over Remus' cock, planting wet kisses from base to tip, and Remus arches up into him, the ancient bed squeaking in protest. His hands snag in Sirius' hair, fingers tangled in soft, black strands, and he moans, a quiet sound, a sound Sirius can just make out over the creaks and groans of the Shack settling around them.

His tongue darts out to taste, trailing along the underside and swirling over the head, and his hands move up Remus' legs, pinning his thrusting hips to the bed. He loves having Remus like this, needy and desperate, loves the feel of Remus underneath him, loves the soft play of muscles and the slide of skin against skin.

Remus pulls on Sirius' hair, urging him upward, but Sirius stays, because he wants Remus to come, wants Remus to gasp and shake and cry out his name. But Remus is insistent, pulling again, harder, one hand dropping down to haul Sirius up by the arm.

His mouth is open when Sirius meets him, lips parted, and Sirius takes the opportunity to dip his tongue inside. Remus pulls away, his face flushing, and hides his face in Sirius' neck.

'We have company,' he says quietly.

'What?'

'James,' says Remus, against Sirius' skin. 'He's here.'

Sirius turns his head slightly, and catches a glimpse of two disembodied feet lurking against the opposite wall. He wonders briefly how James got in without them hearing, but James knows the Shack as well as he knows Hogwarts, knows every loose floorboard and every stubborn door.

There's a strange rush of heat under his skin, colour rushing to his cheeks, and he feels embarrassed, exposed. He shouldn't, he knows he shouldn't, because it's James, and James has seen him naked before, James has been underneath him like this more times than he can count.

Memories long buried claw their way to the surface, memories of James sweaty and naked with a hand around Sirius' cock. He remembers dreams he's never told Remus, dreams he's woken from achingly hard, of James catching them, of James stripping down and sliding between them.

That thought makes Sirius' cock throb, his fingers digging into Remus' hips. He tries to shove it away, because Remus would never, but when he dares a glance at Remus his eyes are dark with arousal, and he thinks maybe Remus would.

'Moony,' says Sirius loudly, 'you'd fuck James, wouldn't you?'

'Sirius!'

'I think you would,' he continues, louder, his voice carrying across the small room.

'No, Sirius--'

'He has a great arse, Moony. And I know you know. I've seen you looking at it.' Remus makes a funny, desperate noise and covers his face with his hands, but Sirius pulls them away. 'And I think you'd fuck him.'

Remus makes that noise again, his face just shy of Gryffindor red, and for a moment, Sirius thinks he might have gone too far. But Remus' eyes are wide, so dark they are almost black, and something flickers behind them that makes Sirius take a deep breath and plunge ahead.

'Think about it,' he insists, dropping his hand down to touch Remus, stroking slowly. 'James, on this bed,' he adds, lightly thumbing the head. 'James, between us, with your cock inside him.'

Remus hisses, his hips jerking forward, thrusting into Sirius' hand. Sirius smiles, and brushes his lips against Remus' before turning to back James.

'You can come out now, Prongs.'

A pause follows, stretched and silent, and Sirius waits, watches, his hand slowing on Remus' cock. The disembodied feet shuffle on the dusty floor, and the air above them shimmers and swirls, but James doesn't come out of hiding. Sirius opens his mouth to try again, but it's Remus who speaks.

'James.'

There is a rustle of fabric, then James, standing in the shadows with his cloak pooled messily around his feet.

'I'm... I'm sorry,' he says. He flushes redder than Remus, and studies the floor. 'I just--'

'Just fancied a look?' interjects Sirius. 'Or did you fancy a go?'

'No! I... I just... um, I was--'

Smiling, Sirius reaches out towards him. James shakes his head, but he stumbles toward them, his steps jerky and disjointed, like his feet are moving without his permission.

'Lily--'

Sirius slips a hand under the hem of James' shirt, his fingers smoothing over James' stomach, and James trails off with a gasp.

'Evans is not here,' says Sirius. He has missed this, missed being able to touch James, missed being able to make James shake with his hands and a couple of words. 'And Evans is not your girlfriend.'

'Not yet,' replies James. His voice wavers, but his tone is fierce.

'Too right,' says Sirius, twisting his hand in the fabric of James' shirt. 'Not yet.'

He pulls, and James falls onto the bed easily, sprawling half on top of Remus with a startled noise. His hand brushes Remus' cock as he gropes for purchase on the bed, and Remus sits up, gasping and reaching for him.

Then they are kissing, just a few inches from Sirius' face, and Sirius stares, watching the curve of James' mouth and the pink-wet slide of Remus' tongue. Reality outweighs the fantasy for a moment, and knots of jealousy twist in his stomach, ugly and sour, because his (once) James is kissing his (now) Remus, but someone moans over the slick sounds of lips and tongue, and the thrum of heat and want is enough to chase everything else away.

Sirius watches until he can't help but touch, until he can't help but wrench James away from Remus' mouth and twist him around to his own. Kissing James is both everything and nothing like he recalls; it's been so long he's not sure he's remembering it right, but James' mouth is hot and wet, and for the moment, it's his. He Banishes James' clothes and kisses him again, and decides he shouldn't bother to try.

His hands wander James' body, mapping it out, relearning every curve and angle. He traces his fingers over James' neck, his shoulders, his chest, then down, teasing over James' nipples before dropping one hand down to wrap around James' cock. When he slides the other around to James' back he feels heat and skin, feels Remus, who's pressed tight behind James, his mouth moving along James' neck and his hands learning James' body for the first time.

He mouths a wet trail across James' jaw and neck, meeting Remus over James' shoulder for a kiss, and James' hands suddenly move, flying up to touch and stroke him. Just then, with Remus' tongue in his mouth and Remus' fingers in his hair, with James' mouth on his neck and James' hand on his cock, for one frantic, irrational moment, he wonders why they have to give this away, wonders why he and Remus have to give James to Evans, because James was theirs first, and a part of James always will be.

Sirius shoves that thought away, just like the split-second flare of jealousy that comes when James twists an arm behind him to pull Remus in for a kiss, because he knows it's pointless, endless. He focuses on the here and now instead, kissing down James' body to his cock, licking and sucking until James is gasping, shaking.

'Fuck him, Moony,' Sirius grinds out. 'I want to see you fuck him.'

James stiffens, and makes a noise that sounds vaguely like protest, but they silence him, Sirius with his mouth and Remus with stroking hands. After a long moment James relaxes, his fingers pulling at Sirius' hair as he mumbles _yes_ against Remus' lips.

He crawls towards the head of the bed as Remus tips James over onto his hands and knees, his fingers disappearing inside James' body with a muttered spell. Sirius watches, unable to think, unable to breathe, and when Remus' fingers slip out and his cock slides in, the sound James makes is so raw and desperate Sirius has to close his eyes and squeeze the base of his cock to stop himself from coming on the spot.

Remus fucks James slowly, with long, deep thrusts that Sirius can _feel_ , feel in the flash of Remus' eyes and the low, choked moans trapped in the back of James' throat. Remus' arms snakes around James' hip, fisting his cock in time with his thrusts, and James' head sags forward, dipping low, then with a shaking breath he looks up and meets Sirius' eyes.

'Sirius.'

He moves to James, hauling him up just enough for a kiss, their tongues twining together fast and rough. James' hand finds his cock, his fingers curling around it tightly, but Remus, growling, thrusts into him hard and he jerks forward. He sprawls into Sirius' lap, his cheek brushing Sirius' cock, and he looks up at Sirius, wets his lips, and flicks his tongue over the head.

Then James' mouth is on his cock, hot and wet and lips and tongue. It's clumsy, because James has never done this before, because Remus is throwing him around, but it's James, so it's perfect, and he arches up into the blinding, searing heat.

Sirius props himself up on his elbows as best he can, watching Remus fuck James, watching James suck his cock, watching his own legs shake as it drives him closer and closer to the edge. It's too good, too much; Remus growls again and James' fingers dig into his thighs hard enough to bruise, and he feels his body tighten, feels his release building and coiling in low in his stomach.

He meets Remus' gaze, and Remus is beautiful, sweaty and naked and straining for release, but there is a brief flash of jealousy behind the arousal in his eyes. For one moment everything stops, and Sirius feels it too, because James is doing something Remus loves and Remus is doing something Sirius never did, and Sirius knows this can never happen again.

Sirius tells himself to enjoy it while it lasts, and he does, losing himself in the sensation, in the feel of James' tongue swirling around his cock and the sounds building in the back of Remus' throat. He sinks his fingers into hair he'll probably never touch again, gives himself up to a mouth that will never touch him again, and hopes that Remus knows that he loves him.

Remus slams into James hard, pushing James down onto Sirius too far, too deep. James' throat flutters wildly around his cock, and Sirius comes, comes so hard and thick he feels completely empty and lost.

When he can move again, when he can breathe again, he slides down alongside James to reach under him and wraps his hand around Remus' on James' cock. They stroke him together, once, then twice, and James comes, spilling over their fingers with both their names tumbling off his lips.

He hauls himself up, kissing Remus, and as Remus comes inside James, he moans hoarse and low into Sirius' mouth.

There is silence again, after they collapse onto the bed, a silence that is uncomfortable and full of questions. They are quiet and motionless, trapped in the kind of stillness that comes when no one wants to be the first to move.

It's James who breaks the spell, shifting himself off of Sirius and out from under Remus, and Sirius can't help but look, even as his hand gropes for Remus' across the bed. James is flushed and his hair is near a riot, and there are several marks on his neck and chest that will have to be Charmed.

Remus does it for him, performing each perfunctory swish and flick without meeting James' eyes. James' sits perfectly still for it, his eyes fixed on a spot over Remus' shoulder, but he glances down as Remus points his wand at the last one, and stops him.

'Leave it,' says James quietly.

It's almost purple, about the size of a Knut, and it's just above his heart.

By the time James is dressed, Sirius can breathe and Remus has relaxed against him, and Sirius knows everything will be fine.

'I love you two,' says James. For the first time since Sirius has know him, he looks truly uncertain. 'You know that, right?'

'Yeah,' replies Sirius, just as Remus says, 'We love you, too.'

James flashes them a smile as crooked as his glasses, and retrieves his cloak from the floor. Sirius watches James leave, watches him leave them for Evans, and when the door clicks shut behind him, Sirius breathes.

He pulls Remus to him, and kisses him.

**IV. [...]**

Yeah, that was all my idea. And I'll happily take the blame for it, because it was brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant. Best idea I've ever had, other than the motorbike.

And I know this sounds off, but it was probably better it happened, because it helped us get ourselves sorted for good. I mean, Moony will never admit it, but I think a part of him had always wanted to get in with James, at least once. And I understand that. We all belonged to James, in a way, and James has a great arse. But I don't have to tell you that. You've seen it.

What about me, then? Well, I got one last go with James before he settled on birds for good. And when all was said and done, I realised it was Moony I wanted. Still do. He has a fantastic arse, too. You probably haven't looked, but you don't get to, either. You'll just have to take my word for it.

Right. Back to your original question. You wanted to know if I've had sex with your husband.

I'd have to say no. He wasn't your husband at the time.


End file.
